


The Ghost of Us

by Lyrae_Immortalis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bird Puns, Chess Metaphors, Depression, Disassociation, Ed tries to find his purpose, Hallucinations, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and gets really extra about it during the chess tournament, oswald is a sassy thing, self reflection, talk of violence and destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 07:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10301246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae_Immortalis/pseuds/Lyrae_Immortalis
Summary: A recollection of events post Oswald's death. Edward is trying to embrace his new life as 'The Riddler' but is being haunted by a ghost of his past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't blame me for what occurs, Ed practically wrote this himself.

The first time it happened, it was unexpected, a frightening reality he never thought he'd have to endure again. It occurred right after Ed sprayed a green question mark on Oswald's artwork, thoroughly defacing it. Ed rolled his eyes at the shamble of a thing. It's creation had been a thoughtful gesture on Oswald's part, if only the need wasn't born from within his own guilty conscience, a need to make up for his wrongs. _Well he soon paid for those._ Ed circled Oswald's smug face, highlighting that which had become Gotham's current mystery. Oswald had disappeared, and as the city's mayor, people were in strife, ' _Has Mayor Crumblepot fled the coop? Was the bird-un too much to handle?'_ , with many postulating he had ditched his responsibilities with a wave of his hand, _'People of Gotham, it's time to give a hoot. We deserve more than this fowl impostor.'_ There would be no questioning it after today, not after the news reached the public's ears, something devastating had befallen _their_ mayor. Ed appraised his handy work with a gleeful smile. _It was perfect._ The green rim encircled his former friend, the shade striking against the palette of neutral pigments upon the canvas.

 

It was a _reminder_ , a question, and a riddle. Something that meant so much to Oswald, something he tried to share with him after the havoc he wreaked was now destroyed, _much like The Penguin himself._ The symbolism was all too amusing. Ed clapped his hands in front of him and nonchalantly threw the paint canister over his shoulder, before spinning on his heel to leave. In an hour the police would raid the manor, finding nothing but that which he left behind. The next step in his grand plan was fast approaching and Ed didn't want to miss his opportunity to see its grand unveiling.

 

A shadow shifted in the darkness, a brief flash in the corner of his eye, causing Ed to halt his departure. He frowned, narrowing his eyes to peer through the shadows looking for any indiscernible shapes. He wasn't expecting anyone to he here yet, it wasn't time. They weren't following his plan, he didn't put in several nights work to have a lone soul destroy it in a mere second. _Were they here to rob the place?_ Oswald lived a lavish lifestyle, one filled with an abundance of material objects but with the house no longer occupied it was only natural it would attract thieves.

 

“Whoever is here, better make themselves scarce," Ed said with confidence although it wavered the longer he stared into the dancing shadows. If someone was here they wouldn't escape this house alive, he would make sure of it. He couldn't have his carefully laid plans destroyed in a moment of greed. Ed removed the small pocket knife from his pocket, slipping it into his gloved hand and flicked it open. It looked like the police were going to be graced with another small gift, courtesy of "The Riddler." "This is _not_ your place,” he growled as he took a hesitant step forward.

 

_"Neither is it yours."_

 

Ed froze. He was right, he wasn't alone. The creak of leather reached his ears as his fist tightened around the handle of the blade. Who did they think they were, call him out like that, he had more right than anyone to be here, the manor was his former home after all. "Show yourself," Ed called into the night. The detached voice left him unsettled, it was too confident, too self assured. His _request_ was quickly answered as the distant sound of shuffling feet grew louder. A figure parted the dark shroud, slipping out of the nights greedy clutches and into the pale moonlight that wormed its way through the opened window.  

No. _It's impossible_ . Ed eyes opened to whites as he stumbled back, clumsily tripping over the heels of his feet as a loud gasp of surprise came unbidden. Behind him the painting rocked back and forth, swaying from the impact of his shoulder before settling upon its legs. The figure... the man, stood before him dressed in the finest of clothes, all prim and proper with a small smile playing on his lips. " _O-Oswald?_ " Ed's heart racketed against his ribs making valiant effort to escape it's rigid enclosure as he took in the impossible sight.  “What… how?”

 

Ghosts weren't real. They were an impossibility brought on by a weakened mind, a poor psyche and a delusion of hope, of something more. Oswald once conveyed his recollections, he told him of the time he spent with his father, told him the tale of the haunting whispers of spirits that lurked the darkened halls of his historic home. _Useless sentiment_. Ed used those memories, ones so freely shared, against him, shattering what little sanity he retained, showing the mayor who he truly was. A broken, damaged little man.

 

“I believe the word you are looking for is ahh.” Oswald spoke, the taunting words rolled off his tongue as two pale hands rose and shimmied in the air before coming to rest at his sides. Oswald possessed an air of theatricality, unusual for one such as him as the behaviour was a little too uncouth. That wasn't to say Oswald didn't captivate his audience but he managed to do so in an entirely different manner.

 

“Did you miss me?” Oswald asked with a tilt of his head.

 

“No.” He didn't. He didn't miss him at all. Ed tightened his grip on the blade, readying himself for an attack that never came. Oswald's appearance confounded him, he wasn't the ball of rage and hatred that usually exploded in an overly emotional outburst when he sought revenge. No, he was different and the unpredictability was unsettling. Ed was well accustomed to predicting Oswald's movements, his wants and needs, it as what allowed him to be a worthy member of his team and it was what lead to Oswald's downfall. He knew the man too well, but this was not the same Oswald he threw into the river. The Penguin smiled cunningly at him, as though the secrets of the world were his to toy with.

 

 _Why was he here?_ Oswald should be dead, not standing before him as though his death was but a dream. Ed watched with bated breath as Oswald began to hobble about the room, his signature walk only made more apparent in the time they had spent apart. Green eyes that sparkled with mirth flicked over every item in the room, cataloguing his surroundings as though it was all new to him. The Penguin came to stop in front of his painting, tongue clicking at the roof of his mouth before he gave him an incredulous stare. "I am not sure those denials are entirely accurate, Edward."

  


“One would think you were still obsessed with the thought of me, y'know... if your signature mark sprayed all over my face is anything to go by." Edward grit his teeth at Oswald's quip. He ignored the insinuation at that slips from his lips in favour for fixing him with a glare.

 

“You died.” Ed whispered, his mind unable to wade through his chaotic thoughts. _He died._ That was not have been an event his mind concocted, that was an impossibility. He saw Oswald sink, saw him disappear behind a red bloom as the watery depths swallowed him, accepting the offering bestowed onto them. “You fell into that river and DIED!”

 

“Relax,” Oswald said with a laugh.

 

As if he could. Edward was on edge, how had Oswald managed to escape his grave? How many times was he expected to have to kill him for it to end? Oswald has had more chances than anyone, and was perhaps one of the most undeserving individuals, so why was he graced with yet another life. Gotham was clearly getting out of control. It's petulance for reviving the dead was an atrocity, death was eternal. People shouldn't be drawn from their slumber like long forgotten toys are drawn from a toy box. Death was _supposed_ to be eternal, but for people like Strange, they it was a toy to be played with. That man needed to be stopped, perhaps after Ed saw to his current dilemma he would track the necromantic scientist down and put an end to this petulance. The last thing this city needed was Oswald Cobblepot.

 

“One would think you've seen enough hallucinations to know when something isn't real.” Everything clicked into place the moment the word hallucination was uttered. So Oswald _was_ dead. That was a relief but now he was left with the sudden and striking realisation that all was not well. Ed pinched at the bridge of his nose forcing his glasses further up his face.

 

“Why are you here?” Ed uttered into his palm. He was finally free of the man that caused so much destruction, the man that caused him so much pain and heartbreak, he didn't want to be haunted with his mocking image for the rest of his days. Oswald was nothing to him now.

 

“You tell me,” Oswald said with a dramatic wave of his hand as he eyed him with a narrowed gaze that was all too predatory. Oswald hardly ever adopted this look unless a serious infraction had befallen him, and he had _never_ thrown in his direction. Ed suppressed a shiver. He was unable to tear his eyes from the image of his former friend no matter how he wished he could. Oswald drew him like a magnet, he always had, before now that fate had been a pleasant one, Oswald was his dearest and most trusted friend however under the circumstances they now found themselves, Ed felt uneasy. The hairs on the nape of his neck tingled as they stiffened in frightening realisation. Oswald... or the ghost of, was terrifying. He tilted his head and stepped closer, stopping only inches from his body. “I wouldn't exist right now if your mind wasn't at war with itself. So, _Edward_ tell me, are you feeling guilty?”

 

“No,” he said vehemently as he tried to hold his ground against the man that was his weakness. Guilt was felt by guilty men, his actions were justified, an eye for an eye, or in this situation, a life for a life. Oswald took Isabella’s, so he had to pay for that with his own. He couldn't go unpunished. This was the price he had to pay, and for that Ed would not feel guilty for playing a his hand in his death.

 

“And why do I not believe you, hmm? Would this help?” The image of his former friend morphed to depict the last time he saw Oswald. A strangled gasp left Edward’s throat and he stepped back with a hand to his chest, resting over his erratic heart. The apparition felt all too lifelike as crimson droplets fell from the wound in his stomach, colouring the floor around him. Haunted eyes and a mop of wet hair perfected the image in the most terrifying way. Ed swore he could still smell the salty breeze and feel the patter of rain on his skin. He felt like he was back at the docks once more. Oswald took a shuddering breath as he pulled his stained hand away from his centre. " _Edward..._ " he whispered over a wet choke.

 

Ed snapped his eyes closed, squeezing the lids together as tight as he could, and blew out a deep breath which puffed his cheeks. _He’s not real. Just focus, you can make him disappear. He's not real._ Ed repeated those words as a mantra, the words he spoke so long ago back at the precinct when the ghost of himself whispered words he wished he tried valiantly to deny. These apparitions were annoying but not real, they couldn't hurt him. _He's not real. You can make him disappear._

 

“I’d like to see you try but we both know I am trapped inside of that head of yours, Mr. Nygma. I will _always_ return.”

 

Ed fled the Manor as fast as his feet could carry him, as though the ghost of Oswald could only be found inside his former home. Reality was not as kind. He would return, just like the other one had. Why was he plagued by this curse, this internal uncertainty, the constant rebuttal and questioning. He knew who he was. He created himself so why was he left questioning these decisions. One thing he knew for certain was that Oswald was wrong, utterly and undeniably wrong in his accusations. Edward was not feeling guilty!

  


* * *

 

 

Edward Nygma stood on the balcony overseeing the preceding events of Gotham's annual chess tournament. The long awaited day had finally arrived, he was one step closer to in his plan to reveal "The Riddler" to an almost undeserving populous. The defaced painting was just step one, a prelude to events to come, a small teaser like the blurb of a story. What lie hidden beneath his multitude of layers was more than could be anticipated but that would soon be realised. Jim and his merry men, _merry buffoons_ , had instantly recognised his mark, however that was what Ed was counting on for who else but him left behind seemingly unrelated clues. Ed felt like the pied piper, playing his song, leading children off to their doom.

 

Barely a day after he fled the conflicting confines of the Manor, Detective Gordon had discovered his gift, as he obligatorily searched for the missing mayor. Like rats to the slaughter they answered his summons and stormed the empty halls in a pack with their guns drawn and lasers splitting the shadows only to find _nothing_ but what he left behind. He had watched Jim leave the Manor in a huff, Oswald was not there, he wouldn't be seen again but Jim held a foolish sense of hope. Little did he know Oswald lie dead at the bottom of a river, his corpse feasted on by the crustaceans of the deep.

 

Ed sneered down at the people milling below him, as he drew his mouth drawn into a taut line. Gotham's best and brightest minds gathered to take part in a competition he had one thoroughly enjoyed, a game he had dominated in his earlier days. However now things had changed, he was not seated beside them looking at overly familiar 64 squares of a chess board. No, now Gotham had become his playing field and yet again he was determined to dominate this little game.

 

Ed stood transfixed, watching the games take place. He had already determined the winners of the first round. A dark chuckle wormed its way out of his throat. It was a pity they wouldn't get that far but he had a competition to win too.

 

Chess was more than a game of conquest, conflict, and competitive skill. Chess was a reflection of life creatively engaged, however most people were too limited to even perceive that fact. Running a hand down the fabric of his green viridescent suit, Edward took out the small remote from his front pocket. The detonator was primed and the charges were set, it wouldn't be long now. Ed's thumb twitched over the toggle in the centre as he stared at the red light that shone angrily. It challenged him, taunting his primal desires. _Soon_. He had to wait for the opportune time, hasty decisions lead to foolish mistakes. His planning was meticulous, Ed had calculated every foreseeable outcome and its fallout. He wouldn't let the blunders of his past wreak havoc again. He had learnt his lessons, his stint in Arkham rang the gong on his shortcomings. Jim Gordon would not best him again, he'd make sure of that.

 

The Riddler, his new persona, was a man of strategy and cunning, what better embodiment of his very being than the calculative movements of chess. Gotham was now his board. He controlled every piece, an invisible puppet master pulling invisible strings. The simple minded fools could not perceive the bigger picture. Ed looked down at them scurrying back and forth to their seats, slapping down the timer to mark their speed and aptitude and scoffed through a shark-like smirk. They were nothing compared to him, they were too limited, bound by morals. The self made shackles that held them together were hardly conductive. The ants, the miscreants and imbeciles, were but sacrificial pawns and given time, _approximately twenty minutes_ , and they would serve their purpose.

 

Chess… Ed turned the word over in mind again. It was not just a game but a reflection of life itself. It symbolised the eternal fight against spirit and matter; good and evil; values versus ego; being and non-being. The alternating black and white squares on which the pieces were moved showed the steps taken to achieve one's goal. Vertically or horizontally there was always a way to cross the board. Life transformed in a land of decisions and fights, a battle of black and white... _why not grey_. Why limit himself to one direction. Edward Nygma was no mere pawn, he was the ruler, the ultimate power.

 

But a King? No that was not who Ed was. He was not so _limited_ , he didn't need guarding. He didn't require an army or walls to protect him. He didn't need rooks and pawns, nor bishops. He had himself and what better power was there. He was the Queen, the true power behind a man that claimed something more. Oswald was right, the actions of his murder had changed him but it was only for the better, he was free to be who he was always meant to be, free to take control of his life, to not answer to anyone but himself. No one controlled him now.

  
“You rang?” Oswald's apparition materialised beside him as he stood on the balcony overseeing the last of the spectators take their place in the grandstands. Ed clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together as frustration took hold. Oswald was not wanted or needed in this moment, this moment was designed and carefully cultivated for his own pleasure. He didn't need the insulting image of his former friend distracting him from his mission of self discovery. "That makes it twice now you've called me to your side. I _wonder_ why that is." Oswald was cocky, displaying an air of superiority the _real_ Oswald did not. No, the real Oswald held himself in an entirely different manner, one of reverence, not this clownish display. Ed tried his best to ignore the hallucination, but Oswald made that difficult as he prodded at his mind. "Are you ready to admit your guilt yet?"

 

"There is nothing to admit to." If Oswald wanted him to confess to having a hand in his death he would but he was not the initiator of those events. The blame lie on Oswald's shoulders.

 

"Well then, you must want me here out of some sense of self worth because you know without me you are nothing." Ed scoffed at Oswald's insinuations. He couldn't be more wrong. Why did he need Oswald to validate his choices when he could do it himself. Ramblings of a dead man weren't anything he was particularly interested in.

 

“You’re not that special Oswald," Ed spat maliciously as he turned to face him. Oswald hardly held any value to him anymore apart from being the instigator of his change. Ed breathed a sigh of relief, instead of a bleeding mess he found Oswald dripping wet; droplets of water fell off the sleeves of his jacket to the floor colouring his shoes in a darker shine and seaweed graced his shoulder like an epaulette. _Was that a crab?_ Oswald was too close, gazing inquisitively at him with a quirk of his head. Ed took a not so subtle step away and trained his eyes on the pawns below. "I’ve hallucinated Kristen before," he sneered.

 

“ _Oh_ , the woman you claimed to be in love with… _hmm_ , well isn't that interesting.”

 

“How so?” The question left Ed's lips before he could even think to silence himself. He should be ignoring Oswald, not giving in to his incessant remarks. It would only encourage him further and what he _needed_ right now was for him to disappear. Oswald was tarnishing his moment.

 

“Well, if i'm not _special_ as you so kindly say, then why am I here beside you and not her?" _Because this is all your fault, because you drove me to do this, because this is who I've been forced to become._

 

Oswald scoffed at Ed's silent thoughts. "And while we are on that matter, _what_ are you doing here?”

 

Edward was unperturbed by the question. Oswald was born from his own psyche, he knew the _exact_ reason he was here. It hardly required answering yet Ed couldn't help himself, Oswald needed to understand, even if he wasn't real he had to see why he was doing this for it was all because of him. "If you must know, I am here to prove a point."

 

"And what is that, Edward? Surely you could be more creative than this," Oswald said with a grandiose wave of his hand at the sea of people below. Ed huffed with pursed lips. Insults, however offhanded or confrontal they are, were something he was accustomed to. He could let it roll off his back just like the droplets of water trailed down Oswald's sleeve. Fixing him with a stare Edward spoke.

 

_"I am a loyal soldier, one of the best and heaviest unit in the army,_

_Still, I wait until the first wave marched against the opposing party,_

_Done nothing, but when I sense danger threatening my majesty,_

_I make haste and help him, but only if I see him directly. What am I?"_

 

"You do realise it is useless asking me riddles you know the answer to. Do you forget who I am?" Oswald raised a brow but said no more. Ed paused and looked over the games playing out below him, they were _his_ checkered spaces, _his_ pawns and rooks, they were _his_ to control.

 

"I will not be a _rook_ , or any other piece in someone else's grand plan, Oswald. They will realise that I am worth more than a passing glance, that I control every move they make, that I am to be _respected_."

 

"A rook protects his King, does he not. Is that what I am to you Edward, your King?"

 

"Oswald, you all to often proclaimed your monarchy over Gotham. You have... _had_ quite the napoleon complex." Ed deflected the question with personal attacks the real Oswald would have answered to but he couldn't deny that he spoke truths. The King was the piece the whole game revolved around and just like a game of chess, all of Ed's action continued to revolve around the Penguin.

 

"Quite the act of regicide you committed. The killing of your King and ruler." A soulless laugh reached Ed's ears. Oswald's dejected voice settled in the depths of his heart as his image morphed to a horrifying reality. If Ed thought the sight he saw at the manor was petrifying it was nothing compared to what stood beside him. Oswald's hollow form stared at him blankly. Instead of full cheeks, they were now gaunt, and his once striking green irises had shifted to a milky hue. Even his clothes were a tattered mess. Oswald deteriorated before his eyes leaving Ed no choice but to flee as an intense nausea washed over him.

 

The chaos he was looking forward to witnessing burst behind him at the hasty flick of a switch. All Ed carried with him from the scene was the scent of smoke and the screams of the fallen which were all but overridden with the haunting image of Oswald still playing at the forefront of his mind.

 

* * *

 

It had been close. Yet again Jim Gordon proved all too adept at discerning the hidden meanings behind his riddles. The Detective had cornered him, arrested him, and reluctantly released him when it was found he had no grounds to hold him. Ed was filled with a cocky sense of pride, one he couldn't help but throw back in Jim's face. Bruised ribs and a bleeding lip was the gift he was bestowed before being tossed to the grating floor of the alley. Ed dragged himself home, a laugh spilling out maliciously as a string of blood tinged spit flowed from the corner of his mouth. Jim was clearly losing it, it wouldn't be long now. The infamous detective would pay but first Ed had to heal and plan the next phase. A physical battle was not one he could win, he knew where his strengths lie.

 

* * *

 

Ed sat at the piano, sinking down onto the plush seat and ran a hand over the swinging cover that hid the keys. He frowned, he hadn't stepped near the thing in months, even after purchasing it on a whim it sat in the corner of his new apartment gathering dust. A forgotten relic, much like himself for outside his mischief who was there to remember him. He had no friends, no partner, no _family_ . He was alone. Ed told himself that it was for the best, connections only created weakness, something for someone to manipulate. The only connections he held now were born of greed and malice, they were people _he_ could use. He wouldn't put himself in the same position he did with Oswald. He wouldn't make himself prey to another, not again.

 

Ed slid the cover open and with a breath, blew away the thin layer of dust that sprinkled the surface of the keys in a fluffy film. Ed watched enraptured as tiny slithers danced in the air around him slowly giving into the oppressive call of gravity as they drifted to the floor along invisible currents. They were free, free to follow the movements of the wind, free to adapt to the changes that were inevitably bestowed onto them. The little slithers weren't required to plan, to plot and scheme, they were free to feel, to live their lives dancing in the wind.

 

Ed ran a hand over the keys, a light touch of discovery, lost in thought of a former life. _Did "The Riddler" even like pianos?_ He had been so consumed by his desire to move away from his past he hadn't thought about what now lie ahead. What happens after he receives the attention he has been craving, what happens after Edward Nygma disappears into the shadows and is replaced with the man he was forcing himself to become. Where would that leave him? Would he even remember his core values, or would the city morph and mould him to fit its needs as it had to many others.

 

Ed pressed one of the keys and the note filled the air, starting sharp but dulling as the vibrations slowed. Pushing another his fingers began to move effortlessly across the keys, dancing over the black and white stripes as the melodic sounds flowed through him. _This change needed to happen_ , Ed thought to himself. He couldn't be the same man he once was, that man was weak, blind and confused, his vision obscured by a false haze of friendship and love. A splash, a wet lick of breeze and a sprinkle of rain washed it all away. Just as the red puddle of blood slipped from the dock, as did his hold on his inner self.

 

Ed's fingers moved with grace, not striking but caressing the keys as his digits worked to set the song free. It wasn't a familiar piece, it was something created for this point in time, for him in the solemnity of a fleeting moment. Ed sat there for hours playing nothing and everything that came to mind until a certain song hit his heart. He almost stopped, he almost drew away with a gasp as a jolt ran through his body. He shouldn't be anywhere near this piece, it wasn't his, it was...

 

"Hello, Edward," Oswald whispered _._

 

“Thinking about me again?” Ed sighed and closed the piano, hiding the keys from his dancing digits. He should have expected Oswald would show up now, it was the way he worked, _him_... not the apparition. His old friend was always there to guide him through his turmoil, however Ed wished he wasn't there right now. He didn't want this false memory, this simulated concoction. He wanted to be left alone to reflect, to sort through the chaos that was his mind, for without it he would be stuck in an endless loop. Ed turned his head to meet the pensive face of his former friend. He knew where he would find him, although the location of Ed's apartment lie in a new part of town Oswald was exactly where he meant to be, to his right, never straying far from his side.

 

“If I said no would you believe it?” Ed's voice was barely above a whisper. He wished he could forget Oswald, he wished he wasn't reminded of him on a daily basis; the fleeting gaze of a stranger’s green eyes, the paisley tie that adorned another neck, even the shadows held Oswald's memory. He wished he could forget him, but he couldn't.

 

“Would you believe yourself?” the apparition retorted just as softly. That look hadn't left his face, one of concern, he didn't deserve such a heartfelt glance. It only served to tear at the tattered shreds of his being.

 

“I suppose not.” Edward stood and walked away from Oswald, and crawled into bed. His wounds ached, every shift he made reminded him of the abuse he had suffered. Not just the most recent beating but on all the attacks he had suffered in his chaotic life. People who were meant to care for him, to love him only served to break him. Ed lost himself in the moment, in the feeling. He was broken yet holding onto a small slither of control, of hope for something more. Ed lie down on the plush mattress, his shoes still held firm to the soles of his feet but once he cocooned himself in his blankets he had little care for his state. Ed looked at Oswald, _he looked sad_ , one last time before he removed his glasses and closed his eyes. Sleep would help him forget, at least for a little while, for within dreams lie many possibilities.

 

* * *

 

Life was rarely so kind as to give second chances, and when it did it was usually granted to those most undeserving. Criminals of every variety were released from persecution with barely a scolding, they awoke from comas and survived what should have been fatal accidents. Edward had received more chances than most, he had killed and been shown love from by the same woman he murdered weeks later, he had found a mentor under the cover of night only to toss him aside when he was no longer of use, he was incarcerated for what would have been an indiscernible, possibly endless length of time but was freed by the very man who should have wanted nothing to do with him. Oswald graciously bestowed him a home, a job, an income, a _purpose_ . He had shown him friendship and love, _family_ , which was a foreign concept to him.

 

Love... it was something Ed had to chase after, to fight for all his life yet Oswald shared it because he wanted to, because it made him happy. He shouldn't have, Oswald should have kept it to himself, he should have denied those feelings because all they brought him was a new home in deep waters.

 

It had been three months since Oswald passed... since Oswald was murdered, and in those months came the never ending cycle of torment. Sometimes it came in the form of insults and jests in an air of disappointment and anger, other times Ed was haunted with peace, of a friend who once stood by his side supporting his every move, with an encouraging smile and emotive words. Those moments were the ones that hurt the most, he didn't deserve kindness, even from something his own mind concocted.

 

Ed sighed as he stood by the window with a cup of tea in hand, not drinking it, just holding it close for comfort, for something to do, to feel warmth again. It was the third cup today, the other two lie discarded in the sink, lips still brimming with the dark liquid.

 

The honking a car drew Ed's attention. Outside of his self-made cage was a world that continued evolving, it wasn't held in the same stasis he was. The world did as it was meant to, it kept moving, spinning, fulfilling its destiny. Ed didn’t do that, instead he keep himself tucked away, hidden, he had no reason to leave, or to continue.

 

Ed had distanced himself from the outside world and bound himself within his home to save from interacting with _anyone. What was the point? He’d only get someone killed again._ Ed looked around his apartment, the empty cups from earlier filled the sink alongside the dishes from nights before, his bed remained unmade as it had for the past few weeks, and in the laundry he could see the never ending pile of washing grow before his eyes. C _ould this place even be called a home?_

 

All reports said that home was a feeling, and that it was supposed to be a happy one but Ed was left hollow just like the nonexistent photos that graced his walls. His apartment was bare, although it was filled with all the necessities one needed to live comfortably it was empty, cold, devoid of emotional attachments. _Home is where the heart lies._ Where was his heart? Did he still have one or was it at the bottom of the river lying inside a dead man? Oswald had given him a home… and his heart. Ed looked over his shoulders, trying to steal a glance at the man that often popped up as soon as his name wormed its way through his shambled mind but Oswald wasn't there. Ed wasn't sure if he was relieved or disheartened by that notion.

 

Peering down into the tepid liquid swirling in his cup, Ed's eyes began to prickle with unshed tears. Oswald had welcomed him into his life so wholesomely, he opened the doors of his newly found ancestral home and shared it with him. Oswald had accepted him when all others had pushed him aside. Ed often had to work so hard to be noticed, to be of use yet Oswald went to the trouble of securing his release to have him by his side. _Because he wanted him._

 

The shuffle of feet drew his attention to the doorway of the living room. Oswald stood centrally under the arch frame with a sneer on his face.

 

"And here I thought I was free of you," Ed sighed, before taking a sip of his tea in an air of nonchalantly. He appraised the man before him, Oswald looked different today. He still looked like the Penguin, dressed formally with his colourful tie and his extravagant hairdo, holding his cane tightly to his side but the air around him shifted, it held a certain weight to it. _What did it matter._ The air couldn't hurt him and neither could a hallucination. Oswald hadn't spoken, he stood still, silent yet the pinch of his brow spoke novels. He was angry.

 

Ed couldn't bring himself to care, not entirely but he did wonder what he had done to anger Oswald now... to anger himself. Why couldn't he allow himself one moment of peace, although in a world that never stopped it was hard to find such solstice, especially when his mind was seeing to his destruction. A battle from the inside, an attack on an unguarded front.

 

Ed threw his cup in the sink, it shattered upon impact, small colourful shards and jagged pieces of porcelain flicked onto the bench. He'd clean it up later, or maybe he'd just leave it. He didn't have anyone to impress.

 

Ed strolled past Oswald and flopped himself down onto the couch. "Well go on then," he said with a wave of his hand, he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. The day was not going to be kind to him, not with that look on Oswald's face. Ed settled deeper into the rigid cushions awaiting the next few hours of calamity and strife. Three months he had dealt with these hallucinations, _three months... or was it four?_ Ed's... The Riddler's vendetta against Gotham and Jim Gordon had been halted and put to bed for one could not be expected to focus with the squawking of the dead in their ear. Oswald was slowly driving him insane. His vision was a never ending reminder of his failures, of his disgust with himself. There were worse things to live with, at least his friend was still here, even if he only existed within him.

 

"Ed..." Oswald’s anger morphed to confusion as his brow pinched. The apparition shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his cane before coming to stop a few paces away. Regality. Oswald held a regality most did not possess, he was a king in his own right, title and status be damned. No one could deny the power, the influence Oswald exhibited with every fibre of his small stature. The Penguin stared down at him, puzzlement and hesitation danced across his delicate features.

 

"No, Oswald, don't do that to me today, don't give me that false concern. Please... just shout, be angry, tell me yet again how I destroyed the one person who meant everything to me, tell me how I killed the only person that ever truly loved me in a misguided sense of revenge. Get angry, get frustrated and _get_ that look of your face."

 

The concern didn't waver. Ed wanted to look away, he didn't deserve such a glance but he couldn't draw his eyes away from his former friend. Oswald's mysticism had always intrigued him. _How could a small man be so alluring?_ He's never met anyone that drew his attention like Oswald had. The Penguin was so complex and simple too. He embodied the ideology of enlightened despotism, a ruler, a monarch, a king, especially when dressed in his current attire. Well the king was dead, an attack from behind enemy lines, from a trusted official, from the very person he had marked as his equal. Ed wanted to rationalise it again, to say that it was all Oswald's fault, that he paved the way for his own destruction but he would just be reliving the same endless thoughts and he was tired.

 

Ed removed himself from the couch and stalked over to Oswald, stopping inches away. The shorter man stiffened and stood tall, _well as tall as he could_ and fixed him with a stare Ed could not decipher. He was too distracted by that small slither of blue in his green eyes. It shone brightly today, much like the peaceful serenity of the rare unguarded skies of Gotham. “You know…” Ed let out a dejected laugh, “ _you know_ , of course you know. It was pointless starting a sentence in that manner.” Oswald didn’t appear to pleased with his false sense of mirth. He tilted his head, regarding him inquisitively.

 

Ed shook his head and walked away, moving to look back out the window. A woman was running down the street after a child who lost her balloon, a man transversed the other side of the street talking animatedly to another on his phone. Ed had seen the same scene repeated daily, people milling about their lives whilst he kept himself caged in the confines of his _home_. “I watch them everyday, Oswald. The way they rush about living their lives and what I’ve come to realise is I don’t have that. That drive, that thirst for life, it’s been smothered, the candle extinguished and I'm left with this realisation that the existentialism that I should possess is now a void.’ Ed turned his back to the view as he parked himself on the windowsill. Oswald stood impassively still, strikingly silent as he listened to his thoughts, words he could probably predict should he feel the need. “I am a shell of a man, the fragile casing, a flimsy wrapper. I am a joke, the ash underfoot of another… essentially I am dead. Well I guess we have that in common now don’t we?”

 

“Ed… I don't understand.”

 

Ed spun on his heel and threw his arms in the air as he looked back outside. The clouds were slowly rolling back in, blanketing the horizon. There was the symbolism again, the never ending wave of darkness and desolation that imposed itself on his life. “Well how could you Oswald, when even _I_ don't understand it myself.” Ed had tried to sort through the scattered remnants of his broken mind, many nights he had sat awake in the middle of his bed staring blankly through the empty spaces between his fingertips, countless days were spent seated on the couch with a notepad in his lap, trying to make sense of the impossible but all he was left with was black scribbles and torn pages. Oswald had taken his sanity with him to his watery grave, and what he left behind was an empty case. Something that was once filled, brimming, _bursting_ with purpose and ambitious was destroyed at the echo of the gunshot. “Do you need to make sense of this, can you not accept the fractured reality before you?”

 

“Reality can be misleading.” Ed scoffed at Oswald’s words. Reality could also be a nightmare. One look at the shamble of his life told this tale well. Ed’s haunted dreams bled through into the waking world, accompanying him when all he wanted was the silence. At least Oswald was free from a tortured mind in the slithery depths of his grave. Death could not hurt him. Not once he succumbed. Ed looked around his apartment, taking stock of the haunting shadows that threatened to swallow him whole and found he was almost ready to let them. The world had nothing to offer him anymore. Yes the Riddler could provide to be a variable distraction but it was limited offer. It only served to prolong his suffering. No matter how hard Ed tried to push his depressive thoughts away they only clawed at him harder, dragging him down until he reluctantly gave in. There was only so long someone could fight before they gave up trying.

 

“I didn't realise it Oswald, not before it was too late.” Ed didn’t realise what Oswald could have been to him and by the time he did it was long since over.

 

For three months Ed had been plagued with the image of his former friend. Night and day he would return, often at the most inopportune times, with increasing intensity as the weeks passed. _You deserve this fate. You did this to yourself._ The worst thing was the unknown. Ed could play all his cards and follow the script but the fallout lie outside of his control. Did Oswald take long to die? Was he struggling to reach the surface? Did he try, or did he accept his fate? _It's your fault. You did this._ Love had destroyed Oswald. Love had destroyed Ed too.

 

“Oswald I've… I've just had enough.” Ed sighed dejectedly and drew himself away from the window as he began pacing around his apartment. “I need this torment to end, I can't deal with it any longer.” Ed walked around the room fisting his hands through his hair as he stared at the apparition of his friend, keeping him in his sights the entire time. As much as it pained him to see Oswald’s memory it made Ed realise he needed him. He should have noticed it sooner but he was a deluded man, shrouded in a misguided sense of revenge that blacked out all emotion. _You're a stupid boy._

 

“You are a piece of me I wish I did not need.” Ed tried to forget. He tried to change. He _had_ changed. He wasn’t even sure who he was anymore. He had no mission, no purpose. Oswald had given his life meaning, something to do, something to be proud of. After his death, Ed tried valiantly to ignore the part of him that still yearned for his lost friend, he attempted to channel all thought and directive into the Riddler but its semblance was but an act. A falsity. The haunting truths materialised before him confirmed that which he'd rather deny. Ed took a breath, his chest shook and tears streamed down his face, ones he had little care to wipe away. He couldn’t be bothered. He was tired.

 

“I… I'm sorry. You need to know that.” Ed fell to his knees as anguish took hold. It was ripping him apart, scattering shards like a mirror on impact. “Oh _god_ I’m sorry. You were right; about _everything_. It did change me, and I can't go back on that now for what is done cannot be undone, but Oswald...  you still occupy every waking thought and every nightly dream.”

 

“You’re here, you’re always here,” Ed tapped his head with a shaking finger, slamming it against his temple. “You never leave… even when you're not here, you are.” Spirits, ghosts, demons, all things that should be impossible and disregarded by the scientific mind were overridden. Oswald rewired him, even in death he was still pulling his strings, controlling every movement and thought, never letting him stray from the severity of his actions.

 

“I won't pretend to understand half of what you have just said, Edward… but you need help.” He was beyond help. Help was there for people who wanted it. Ed didn’t want help, he wanted it to end.

 

“You _don’t_ know, not you, the real me knows, but not you. You don’t understand, you never had the chance to understand.” Oswald died before the truth rang clear. Ed had missed his opportunity. Sobs wracked his body as he began to hyperventilate, his body shook violently and tears burned their way down his heated cheeks.

 

“Ed you need to calm down and take a breath.” Oswald took another step forward causing Ed to shuffle back. He couldn’t have that, for even the ghost of a touch, was a whisper of memory and he was already drowning in so many.

 

Oswald noticed his reaction and halted his advances. Instead of creeping closer he took a small step back in consideration for his current state. “Help me to understand… _please._ ”

 

 _Please,_ Ed thought as he turned the word over in his mind. Oswald had pleaded for him once, pleaded for him to stop, to untie him, to not leave his side. He didn’t listen. He should have listened. Fresh tears traced the tracks of old as Ed peered at his friend from behind fogged lenses. He could have stopped this, he could have left Oswald alone. The Penguin was breaking without him by his side, but Ed’s sense of self righteousness demanded that Oswald suffer more and so he prevailed and ended his best friend's life. Memories were all he was left with now. Only the brightest shards, fragmented, orphaned, and incoherent. Flashes of happier times and terrible tragedies. “The memories,” Ed began with a shaky breath, “they're like a thousand little fireflies and they burst, they burst Oswald a-and I can't stop them, I don't want to stop them... but they hurt and I'm _drowning_.

 

Oswald stared down at him, a broken man on his knees crying abashedly before him. Ed expected the apparition to laugh at him, he waited for the taunting to begin, or for his departure but the only thing he received was a silent, gaping fish. Oswald looked pained, a look the real Oswald held the last time Ed saw him… but this wasn’t the _real_ Oswald for he had drowned. _Drowned…_ after being shot. Ed gasped as realisation stuck him. Oswald had been shot.

 

“I still have it, the very thing that took you from me,” Ed scrambled to his feet, tripping over them in his haste to reach his bedside. “I still have it,” he repeated. Ed pulled it out of his nightstand, removed it from its temporary home and slotted the handle in the groove of his palm which was shaking violently. He had purchased it with Oswald in mind, a tool for his revenge. Ed couldn't even recall the make and model of the weapon although it hardly mattered, only the rippling reverberations of its last shot rang clear within him. Ed looked down at its silver surface and ran the pads of his fingers over the ridges, following each divot. He swore he would never use it again, an object of hate and malice, but perhaps… _perhaps_ it was the only thing that would lead him back to Oswald’s side.

 

Ed spun back around and Oswald recoiled as he spotted the gun in his hand. His green eyes widened to whites and a hand flew to his stomach clutching old wounds. Ed waited a heartbeat for the image to shift, he waited for Oswald's wounds to bleed anew but nothing happened.

 

“Don't worry, it's not for you, not this time,” Ed spoke impassively as calm realisation washed over him. He knew what he had to do. Ed drew the gun to the underside of his mandible, he could feel the coolness of the metal bite at the sensitive skin as the barrel lodged itself in the groove below his chin. It was almost as though he was designed for this very purpose.

 

In front of him Oswald was talking, waving his hands around frantically as he slowly inched forward, shuffling on both legs. His hands were out, _a begging gesture_ , trying to placate him, calling for him to stop. _Why?_ So he could torment him for another day, another week, _a year?_

 

What did it matter? Silence, relief, and respite were in his grasp. Ed trained his eyes on Oswald, he was crying, why was he crying? _It wasn’t real_ , Ed reminded himself. His reality was an illusion, but if this was the last image he saw before the blanket of death curled around him he would accept it, for why should his death be peaceful. He deserved the pain and torment he bestowed onto himself, he needed to be punished because what he did was _wrong_ . He was no better than his father and that was what scared him most of all. People like him didn’t deserve to live, they only brought pain to the people they loved, or were _supposed_ to love.

Ed closed his eyes. He needed to end it. The world would be better off without him. It would only take one click and…

*

*

*

A smack to his head sent his world spinning on an axis as he toppled to the ground. Ed groaned as he drew his hands to his head, putting pressure on the swelling pain that radiated from the side of his skull. _What?_ That wasn't supposed to happen. He should shouldn’t be able to feel pain, he should be floating in his dark escape, taking refuge from his tormenting life. Ed righted his glasses and looked up into the face of his _saviour?_ Was that what he was or was he his jailer keeping him caged in a place he wished he to be free from?

 

“I’m sorry, Edward. It was the only way to stop you.” He hit him. _Oswald_ had _hit_ him. The realisation struck fear into his heart. “ _No,_ ” Ed whispered shuffling back on his rear trying to escape, to retreat to ends unknown only to meet the frame of his bed. “No, no, no. Y-you can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Oswald…” Ed's tears began anew. He had accept his finality only to have it torn away from him in a split second. Oswald shouldn’t have stopped him, he was doing him a favour, removing yet another evil atrocity from the world.

 

Oswald dropped to his knees, pain graced his features as bone met the hardwood floors. He shuffled closer, inching slowly gauging his reaction till he knelt before him. Ed’s heart racketed in his chest and his body vibrated violently, rattling his aching joints. This couldn’t be happening, but the pounding in his head said his deniability was unfounded. It was happening, but his mind couldn’t compute the probability. Ed lifted a shaking hand, his fingers trembled as he reached for the person he believed would forever be out of his grasp. The smooth fibres of his jacket was the first sensation he felt outside of the throbbing in his skull.

 

“You… you’re real?” Ed drew his hand to his chest. His heart thudded wildly, trying to break free from its caged enclosure. “That’s impossible.”

 

“It’s not impossible,” Oswald whispered as he settled beside him, leaning against the frame of the bed. Did he have any idea how crazy he sounded. People didn't just come back to life, not with Strange missing in action and Jerome's cult eradicated.

 

“Yes, it is!” The entire situation was unfeasible.

 

“Ed--”

 

“T-then you’re just Clayface, a weapon to be used against me.” Ed cut Oswald off as he tried to make sense of the situation. For three months he believed him dead, and yet he was alive the entire time. Where had he been? Who rescued him? Why was he here?

 

“I’m not Clayface nor am I anyone else. It’s me, Ed. The same man that you rescued from the woods, the same man that rescued you from Arkham, the same man--”

 

“The same man that I killed.” Ed couldn't bare to look at him, he ducked his head and stared at his trembling digits. They were instruments of death. Stained red even in their pale state. Ed swiped at his cheek. This should be a happy moment, Oswald was alive, he was seated beside him breathing, talking, he had a heartbeat. Ed should be ecstatic, overjoyed that his reason for living had saved him at the last second, but he couldn’t help but wallow on everything he had done to him. Every act of deceit and violence.

 

“No, Ed look at me, I am here and I am alive.” Ed connected their gazes. The green in Oswald's eyes burned brighter now. _He was here. Alive..._

 

“Why?” Ed questioned.

 

“Why what Edward?” _Shouldn't that be obvious?_

 

“Why are you here? I am the last person you should want to see. I _shot_ you.” Ed winced out the last few words through a constricting throat. He was being ridiculous. His body was acting as though he was the one to receive the blow of the bullet… well in a way he almost was. Ed had almost missed this moment, missed finding out the truth of Oswald’s mortality. Beliefs he had held for months were shattered the instant Oswald knocked sense into him. _He was alive._

 

“You did,” Oswald said solemnly. “I am not going to lie to you Edward, I didn’t come here to save you from your torment, I didn’t even know you were suffering such anguish. I came here to confront you for what you did.”

 

Ed scrambled to pick up the gun that lie just out of hand's reach and shoved it into Oswald’s palm, wrapping his fingers around the base as he put the barrel to his chest, over his heart. Ed took a breath and held Oswald's shocked stare. His eyes held fear as they flicked from their hands to his face. “Then do with me what you will.”

 

“I’m not going to kill you, Ed.” Oswald tore the gun from their grasp and tossed it across the apartment, metal met metal as it clanged against the leg of the dining table, far out of reach. Ed dropped his head into his hands, this was too much. His emotions battered through him and the blow he endured did nothing to settle them. If anything it only aggravated them more.

 

“You should.” Ed choked out. He shouldn’t be allowed to escape this unscathed. He tried to kill Oswald, he believed he did and for a short time he was happy, he was at peace with that outcome. A remorseful man wouldn’t have taken so long to accept guilt for his actions. Ed fought it every step of the way until it became too overbearing. “Y-you should want to see me dead and broken.”

 

“I almost did, and the reality frightened me more than I care to admit.” Oswald shouldn’t care about him. Who would care about their murder. It was a strange twist on stockholm syndrome.

 

Ed ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. His life had just taken such a sudden twist, he couldn't comprehend it. The same thoughts repeated themselves on a loop but through the mess he picked up hints of remorse, sincere feelings of shame for his actions, blinding notions of guilt.

 

“I’m sorry, Oswald. Truly, for everything that I did. You didn’t deserve such a fate.” _Fate_. It was an odd word, one that spoke of destiny, of a plan, of an ends that there was no control over. Perhaps it was fate's plan to have meet again under such dire circumstances. Their lives were intertwined in a way Ed was only just beginning to understand. Every action they had ever made lead them to this point in time and yet again Oswald had saved his life.

 

Ed lifted his hand and cupped Oswald’s jaw, running his thumb over the pink hue on his cheeks. “You give me purpose, Oswald,” Ed whispered sincerely. “Please don't leave me again… I wouldn't be able to survive it.” It was selfish of him to utter such words. He didn't deserve to have Oswald in his life, not after his despicable actions. He was selfish for handing Oswald the keys to his mortality, for forcing him to stay by his side when he deserved so much more, but if this is what it took to keep him close then Ed was willing to be selfish and callous. He didn't want to lose Oswald again, not for one second because without him his life was empty, and barren. Oswald was his light, his saviour, his everything. He wouldn't ruin his second chance. Ed was determined to right his wrongs because for Oswald, he would do anything.

 

“I won't.” Oswald spoke with finality as he drew himself closer into his side. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

Ed rested his head atop of Oswald and relaxed. For the first time in months he felt calm. There was still much he had to work through, there were so many issues _they_ had to confront but they could do it, and they would do it. _Together_.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Love to all those that read, review and leave a kudos. You are all special and wonderful people <3
> 
> You can find me at riddlerbird.tumblr.com


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